A Heated Conversation
by DoorbellSpider
Summary: Varric and Dorian have a little chit chat to pass the time. Whilst under fire. From a dragon. A gift fic for EasternViolet! :D


"What, in the entirety of the Maker's good green world, are we doing with our lives right now." It was less a question and more a demand, flatly stated, as Dorian pressed his back against the face of the rocky outcrop. The outcrop was closer to a small cliff in truth, but when it was all that stood between him and a very _angry_ and most certainly provoked dragon, well—it felt about as safe as a flimsy, paper-thin door that couldn't set in the door jamb right. Perhaps the rock was a bit more sturdy in comparison, but dragon fire was not something he wanted to test it with. "Why are we fighting this dragon. We could have just walked well away from it. There's nothing even HERE worth fighting for!"

"Well, there is the dragon itself, Sparkler," Varric said almost cheerily as he loaded another cartridge of crossbow bolts into Bianca, snapping it into place with a clean, metallic click. "And you know how the Inquisitor and Tiny are about dragons."

"Ugh. Don't remind me. That level of anticipation should never be directed towards fire-breathing behemoths that want to use our bones as toothpicks after thoroughly masticating our fleshly remains." Dorian took a brief break from voicing his complaints to step around the rocky outcrop to continue shooting bolts from his staff at the dragon's nearest front leg. Lot of good that did, it was like attacking a giant with a peashooter. Gathering his mana for a moment, he cast Winter's Grasp upon it. With any luck he might have even have given the dragon frostbite in its pinkie claw.

The Fereldan Frostback was unimpressed, and continued focusing on the two qunari warriors who were busy hacking away at its various limbs like overzealous lumberjacks. Even Varric's bolts seemed little more than tiny, feathery burrs stuck to that damnable dragon's scaly hide.

Those two lumbering, hard-headed lumberjacks were extremely lucky that Dorian was being mindful of how much of his previous Barrier spell's shielding they had left, otherwise The Iron Bull would be enjoying a good burn. For a man who subscribed to a preference for un-cauterized nipples, The Bull was far too willing to brave dragon fire head on.

"I hope you're both having the time of your lives right now!" Dorian yelled, a tad cross with concern for both of his companions' safety as he refreshed the Barrier spell on them. "Your potentially brief, soon-to-be crepe-shaped lives!" He'd have to conserve his mana and limit the big spell casting if he wanted to keep them shielded for however long that infernal winged beast stayed on its feet.

"ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY!" The Inquisitor roared back, laughing all the while, just before he rolled out of the way of a swipe from the Fereldan Frostback that loomed overhead.

"You know you're just encouraging them Sparkler," Varric called over, lining up his next shot carefully before loosing it. The bolt lodged itself deep in one of the open wounds that ranged across the beast's forelimbs, and that most certainly got the dragon's attention.

With a shriek that left the air ringing like the inside of a great bell after it had been struck, the dragon swiveled its great horned head towards the two far-less-enthusiastic members of the party.

"Better them than the beast itself! You should not be encouraging the dragon to be attacking us Varric!" Dorian retorted, grabbing Varric's arm and pulling him back behind the rocky outcrop as the Frostback inhaled, its throat aglow with gathering fire.

The following explosion left tongues of fire washing over the edges of the outcrop, curling, slithering, and hissing like a nest of angry snakes. But the stone wall held as solidly as Cassandra did against an onslaught, and Dorian let go of a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"And I would like to point out that neither you nor I are shielded by a barrier at the moment, so if you wish to continue remaining as extensively hirsute as you are presently, that you kindly not bait the dragon to launch carriage-sized fireballs at us." Dorian added sourly, letting go of Varric's arm.

Varric wore a wide grin, a twinkle of laughter in his eye. "Aw, I've grown on you Sparkler. It's the chest hair, isn't it. No one can resist the chest hair." The dwarf could've jumped out of the way quite readily himself—he was a fair bit more nimble than most people guessed, given how stocky dwarves looked compared to some more lithe persons. Dorian had seen him backflip out of trouble with ease, so the mage reflexively dragging him out of harm's way was a nice little plus in Varric's opinion of Dorian.

"That, and you'll complain about your chest being far too cold should you lose your natural fur coat," Dorian added dryly. "I've yet to see you wear a shirt that isn't open at the chest, and Skyhold's climate is brisk to say the least, even as near to a fire as you usually park yourself." He peered around the corner of the outcropping, checking on the other two party members. Ah, kaffas, the dragon had swung wide with its tail, sending the two qunari warriors sprawling. They were still alive though, so there was that.

"And if one of those battle-happy lugs decides to keel over, you're far better at reviving them in a clandestine manner. I'm too pretty to go unnoticed." Dorian added, rounding the corner to get back to shooting staff bolts at the dragon, while mentally refreshing the spellwork of his barrier spell once more. The Inquisitor and The Iron Bull would be needing another casting of it again, soon.

"Too sparkly, you mean? Those magpies back at camp certainly thought so," Varric quipped, actually having the gall to hop up the rocks to stand atop the outcropping and continue shooting at the dragon. That was just simply showing off how nimble he was—not only compared to the less agile members of the party, but as a _dwarf_ no less, with the typical, short dwarven legs. The nerve!

"That was all Sera's doing as you fully well know, Varric!" Dorian retorted. He _still_ didn't know how she'd managed to get a flock of wild birds to mob him. Not spell-enchantment surely, given the elven archer's acute distaste for all things magical. The fact that she was not a mage made little difference—she likely knew some friend of a Friend who could do all manner of mischief in trade for a similar boon.

Varric cracked up laughing at that, one eye closed as he lined up another shot with particular and pinpoint precision. "Best be getting behind the rocks again, Sparkler! She's going to be mad about this shot!"

"Varric! WHAT are you doing—?!" If there was more to Dorian's question, it was lost in the reverberating howl of pain from the Frostback—Varric had punctured the dragon's eye with that last bolt.

The high dragon then crouched, coiling its unbelievably large bulk up upon itself, before launching its whole body skyward, wings spread as it took off. It was headed directly for Varric and Dorian now.

If there had ever been contemplation of what his last words would be, Dorian would not have guessed that the phrase, "Festis bei umo canavarum—!", aimed at one particularly troublesome and beardless surface dwarf, deshyr or not, would have been his possible final utterance unto the entire world.

"You go right I'll go left, Sparkler! Get out of sight on the double now!" Varric called over as he backflipped up onto a slightly higher cliff with ludicrous ease. The Iron Bull could call Varric's fight scenes unrealistic all he wanted (however fondly), but the best of fiction had its roots in reality. Very distant roots perhaps, given that Varric wasn't wearing particularly heavy gear, but the point remained that he could do fancy backflips, and The Iron Bull couldn't.

"Why is everyone around me driven to wild, irrational antics over fighting dragons?" Dorian hissed out in a panicked breath as he ran—or more like scrambled, but scrambled was such an inelegant word—away from the relatively-too-small-compared-to-a-dragon outcropping.

The outcropping fell heroically in fierce, but so very brief battle with the dragon. Shards and chunks of rock took flight even as the dragon came down for a landing, head snaking under a wing to follow the cheeky dwarf that just disappeared from sight over the lip of the cliff.

The dragon swung her head to the other side then.

Dorian, being on that very same other side, bolted behind a rocky hill—no time for elegance, this was his hide on the line—praying all the while to the Maker above that the dragon hadn't seen so much as a scrap of royale sea silk in passing.

There was no earth-shaking series of thumps following him, at least so far.

And of course the Inquisitor and The Iron Bull were busy running from practically the other side of the valley to get up close and personal with the dragon again. Disgruntled, Dorian flicked a hand to cast Barrier once more upon the two qunari before they disappeared beyond the edge of the hill. Just in time, too, as a gout of flame went roaring past the hill's edge. The two warriors would have been all the more greyer and crispy had the mage waited a moment or two longer. At this rate, Dorian should be receiving a medal or ten that said "thank you for protecting the Inquisitor from frying to a crisp, thereby preventing his demise from dooming the whole world to premature destruction".

"Good hiding spot Sparkler—you're getting better at picking cover and keeping out of the line of fire," Varric said, appearing from thin air on Dorian's other side.

"We wouldn't have needed to find a new one in the first place if you hadn't decided to anger the dragon unto the point of destructive landscaping."

"Ha! If the big bad mama dragon is the landscaper, what does that make her dragonlings? Her pet gophers?"

Right on cue, said dragonlings decided to pop up into view from seemingly empty corners of the valley, much as gophers did from the ground.

Dorian looked at them, and then at the dwarf beside him. "Did you have to jinx it, Varric. Did you really."

Varric just shrugged. "Ah, they were bound to pop up sooner rather than later anyway, Sparkler. We'd have to clear the valley of them at some point or other to make sure they didn't go hunt down the nearest batch of helpless farmers."

"Yes, but that would have presumably been _after_ we had dealt with their pugnacious progenitor, not at the same time."

Varric sighed, cocking Bianca to aim at the nearest dragonling as it drew within range. "Dragonlings are like rats in my experience, Sparkler. There's always a few more ready to pop out of the walls even if you were sure there weren't any nearby just a minute ago. We did sweep the valley first, as you'll recall, to little avail."

"I know, and it's driving me mad. Horse-sized, fire-breathing reptiles should not be able to hide as readily as they do."

A volley of crossbow bolts put an abrupt end to the foremost dragonling. "And that's another one for me! How many have you got, Sparkler? We can rack up some points on the warrior boys over yonder if you've got enough juice left to do that static cage trick of yours."

Dorian arched one brow, directing a haughty look at Varric, before Fade Stepping through the other three dragonlings, chilling and freezing them to the bone—they were all neatly lined up in a row, and far be it from Dorian not to answer when opportunity knocked. "Enough juice _indeed_ ," he said with a sniff.

"Or that. That works just fine as well," Varric said, cranking Bianca to her fullest extent before launching a bolt to shatter one of the three remaining dragonlings. "If you could do that, why didn't you do that earlier when you were running away from the high dragon?"

"Because the ground was rockier over there, it'd almost certainly scuff my boots upon the conclusion of the spell," Dorian complained from afar, switching his staff to his other hand to begin shooting bolts at the next dragonling, whittling away at it piece by piece. "And I _like_ these boots. Scuffing them without someone to buff the scuff marks out would mean I'd have to walk around with said scuff marks until next we return to something approaching civilization. You know how long the Inquisitor likes to run amok in the field, it could very well be a week before I get someone to shine my boots properly."

"You could just buff your boots yourself when we get back to camp, Sparkler," Varric called out in amusement, playing along with Dorian's complaining as he helped pepper the second dragonling with crossbow bolts to contrast the less obvious damage created by Dorian's intangible projectiles.

"I can't do that, I might be mistaken for one of our more plebian companions! My carefully cultivated veneer of pampered indolence would rub off of me as readily as the boot polish would rub onto my footwear!" The irate mage called back with a huff, as he slammed the butt of his staff upon the ground to summon triplicate projectiles to hone in on his target.

The dragonling reared up suddenly as a shower of ice and blood splattered outward from it at the impact of the latest hits that signaled its death and thus release from the magic holding it, before it fell to the ground with a wet splat noise.

"Two down, one to go," Varric said, more to himself and Bianca than to Dorian as the dwarf took a moment to reload the next cartridge of bolts.

"Take care of that last one will you, Varric? I need to go check to see if our Inquisitor and The Iron Bull still live and have not been flattened into be-horned pancakes," Dorian said with a disgruntled harrumph as he hefted up his staff and hastily made his way around the hill so as to get a view of the dragon and—hopefully—the two qunari warriors.

There was an almighty THUD of epic, earthshaking proportions that resounded before Dorian was halfway there. "Vishante kaffas, they better not have died while we were busy with the dragonlings!" Dorian cursed to himself as he broke into a flat out run. It would be just his luck if that noise was the sound of the flattening of two qunari pancakes!

Dorian was pleased to find the two warriors alive.

They were currently making out while leaning against the now slain high dragon's head.

Dorian was less pleased by this, having been worried about their safety.

...he did have to say that seeing two sweaty, heavily muscled men kissing and panting while they busily fondled and ripped each other's armor off was...worthy of a head tilt and some...study. Qunari physiology and all that being less well known to him, and of academic interest. Naturally.

Varric, having finished off the last dragonling with only a little running away from said dragonling before it croaked, tromped on over. He gave a low whistle and shook his head. "Now that right there is a scene people will pay gold to read about, written out with sufficient steamy detail. Guess the Inquisitor doesn't mind getting some fresh air and exercise, eh?" He smirked sidelong at Dorian, who was still watching with a mildly surprised—and rather interested—expression.

"It is rather bold of them to be doing so out in the open," Dorian commented blithely, "I'm sure the readers will appreciate that, as well as the enthusiasm the two are putting into it."

At that moment, The Iron Bull leaned down to wrap his hands around the back of the Inquisitor's thighs and hoisted the other man up, laying Adaar out more properly atop the high dragon's skull and wrapping his legs around Bull's waist. They both still had pants on, but at the rate they were making out, that wouldn't be true for much longer.

"Oh my." Dorian said, eyebrows raising just a touch. "It seems they're not going to draw the line at just kissing and some heavy petting, is it."

"Nnnnnnno, I don't think they will," Varric said, both eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. He'd be taking notes down to write about this later. A few moments more of surprised spectating, and then there was the sound of distant, ripping cloth. "And that right there is our cue to turn around and leave 'em to it, Sparkler."

"You know, in Tevinter that would be the cue that things just got more interesting," The mage said, with a mild note of complaint in his voice. But Dorian did agree with Varric, turning around to go back to the other side of the nearby hill and give the two enthusiastic exhibitionists some privacy. Though he was of the opinion that neither Adaar nor The Iron Bull would be of a mind to care overly much either way.

Varric breathed a brief chuckle in response. "In Tevinter they need to learn to just enjoy the small things in life, like a drink of good strong whiskey after a life-threatening ordeal." He sat down upon a rock that would serve reasonably well as a seat for now, and offered a silver, ornate hip flask to Dorian, sloshing the contents about enticingly.

"You are a dwarf after my own heart, Varric," Dorian replied, extraordinarily pleased and surprised by this turn of events. "My thanks," he said, accepting the flask and downing a mouthful. He then sat down beside Varric and offering him the flask back, savoring the warm burn and oaken flavor of the drink as he did so. "Think they'll be at it long?"

"Given how long Tiny's up in the Inquisitor's quarters on the average night? We've got plenty of time for stories, drinks and a game of cards. Here," He dug into one of his leather duster's pockets and pulled out a pack of cards, not in the least bit bent for their travels. "Deal the cards, Sparkler, and I'll tell you about the time Hawke, Isabela and I managed to win an entire estate in a contest of skill."

"Oh really?" Dorian accepted the deck and began to shuffle the cards expertly, flicking them with a polished flair as he added, "Make it a good retelling, and I'll tell you about the time Felix and I made an elephant fly across the harbor."

"Sparkler, do I _ever_ disappoint with my stories?"

"You did write Swords and Shields, you know."

Varric gave Dorian a meaningful look. "Low blow, Sparkler. I meant with my fireside telling of tales, not my published serials. And that one was prompted by a dare anyway. Crime serials and adventure stories are more my area of expertise."

"Mm, true enough. You didn't actually manage to keep the estate legally though, did you?" Dorian inquired, dealing them both a hand of cards.

"We did!"

"You're shitting me."

"Not at all! Hawke's uncle Gamlen lost the Amell estate through gambling as well, you should know. Hawke bought it back after the Expedition, but that's a different story. This, we won in a daring series of games requiring skill and wit." Varric paused there, naturally, to take a swig from his flask. And not to increase the beginnings of suspense and curiosity of his audience at all.

Dorian gave Varric a long, scrutinizing look, before gesturing for the dwarf to get on with it. "Oh go on, you have my curiosity alight now."

Varric grinned. "So no shit, there we were…"

In the end, it proved to be a delightful afternoon for all. Well, except for the dragon, naturally.

* * *

End.

 **Author's Note:** A gift fic a long time in coming for EasternViolet! :D It took me quite a while trying to figure out what might be a happy discussion of some sort for these two to chat up about, without going into Angst Territory, given the downer possibilities of missing friends and home Varric and Dorian both have. x3 Hope you enjoyed the read! :D


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